Teen Wolf: Before the Dawn 00
Title: Before the Dawn
Author: Reyn
Rating: T
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Keeping secrets has always been Derek’s way of protecting himself from others, but when such a habit puts Stiles in the direct line of danger, Derek is forced to come clean, despite it perhaps being too late to save the one he cares about most.
X-posted: AO3
Junior Year of College - Spring Break, Day Five
Setting the knife down with a distinct clack, Stiles paused his stunning rendition of ‘Moves Like Jagger’ in favor of frowning at the cardboard box his elbow kept hitting every time his arm jutted out while slicing onions. The kitchen was turning out to be a lot tinier than what Stiles remembered from the walkthrough. Waving a shameful finger at the box of dishware, he hefted it up and shoved it into one of the still-empty cabinets to be dealt with later.
He knew that traditionally, one was supposed to celebrate their move-in day by ordering pizza, blasting the stereo, and only unpacking the necessities needed to get them through the next week. But neither Stiles nor his roommates were ones for tradition. Hence the fact that Joel had taken off for a weekend getaway with his girlfriend, and Clara had missed the entire moving process, opting to spend her Spring Break partying it up down in Florida, trusting the boys to move her already packed belongings safely.
Stiles didn’t mind being left home alone. He was used to it. Plus, it gave him a chance to try out a new recipe from the cookbook his dad had recently given him titled, Healthy Living for Your College Days, without running the risk of being teased. Not that he would have minded the teasing, either. He was fairly certain the book was his dad’s own way of saying, ‘If I can’t have curly fries, then neither can you.’
Once he was done with the onions, he dumped them in a large bowl and headed to the fridge to retrieve the garlic paste. This part was the sole reason he decided to try out this particular dish. Because the garlic paste he found came in a tube. A toothpaste tube. Like there were people out there who actually loved garlic enough to want to squeeze some out in paste form onto their toothbrushes and brush their teeth with the stuff. Or just eat it, since it kind of looked like it would be space food. Provided there were garlic-loving astronauts. Or maybe they would just be astronauts who were worried about encountering alien vampires.
Stiles stopped and looked up, his eyes shining at his own brilliance. He could totally go to Hollywood and be a movie producer with an idea like that!
Grinning, he proceeded to squirt the paste into the bowl of chopped onions, mixing the two together with his fingers while he glanced up at the propped book to consult the next step of the recipe.
A flash of movement from beyond the window caused his smile to disappear.
Reaching over to his mp3 speakers, he turned the music down and squinted at the window in an effort to see past the reflection of the kitchen lights and into the darkness beyond. He continued staring until his eyes adjusted and he was able to catalog the basic shapes of what was out there and ensure that none of them had glowing eyes or target lasers. Paranoid much, Stiles? Why yes. Yes, he was. Back in Beacon Hills, between the hunters and the werewolves, he had every right to be. But unless Buffy the Vampire Slayer had suddenly decided to attend UC Davis, bringing with her all sorts of nefarious creatures of the night, what he saw was probably just a cat jumping over the fence into the neighbor’s yard.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he reached back for the knob to the speakers, intent on turning the music back up, only to abruptly turn it off instead as he heard the sharp crack of a twig. Okay, unless cats no longer possessed any sense of agility, and all forms of small suburban animals suddenly weighed enough to break sticks when stepping on them, there was someone lurking in the shadows of his backyard.
The sudden, unexplainable grip of fear convinced Stiles to change the someone to something, and he found himself unable to raise his eyes and actually look out the window a second time to see if this conclusion was true or not. His pounding heart might as well have been an announcement that he knew he was being watched, and a stench of fear was probably being released with his cold sweat. Giving up any pretenses of acting casual, he did the next best thing and darted across the counter to grab his discarded knife.
The shattering of glass punctuated the moment Stiles managed to successfully arm himself, and he whirled around just in time to see a large, dark, humanoid shape come flying through his window. Years of running with werewolves helped to minimize his panicked flailing and turn it into something of an attack, his arm lashing out wildly until he felt the knife connect and sink into solid flesh, jolting him into letting it go almost immediately.
He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that would be nearly enough to stop it, so he didn’t bother waiting out the low growl of annoyance, turning to skitter away while throwing anything he could get his hands on in the process; the tube of garlic paste, the bowl of vegetables, the cutting board, a dish towel. He didn’t dare look back as he jumped over a pile of boxes in his dash for the front door - he knew his only chance of survival was getting out and screaming for help.
But before he could get so far, pain burst in the back of head, causing Stiles to stumble to the floor, the cutting board clattering on the ground several feet in front of him. Alright, note to self, don’t throw anything at a werewolf that could be used as a weapon against you later on. His eyes widened, remembering the knife, and he found himself being spurred him back into action, his limbs moving once more. He refused to be an easy target.
His vision landed on one of his unpacked boxes labeled ‘ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE’, causing a spark of hope to shoot through him. Crawling forward, he nearly ripped the flaps off the box in his haste to open it before he started tossing out various contents, searching desperately for the one thing that could hopefully save him. Claws dug into his ankle just as he found the bottle he was looking for and he kicked out, trying to buy the time needed to convince his fingers to stop trembling long enough to get a grip on the glass container.
Stiles was given no time to feel triumphant once the bottle finally settled in his hand before his shoulder was nearly crushed in a grip that forced him to turn around and face his assailant. Rather than uselessly flop over, he channeled the momentum into his arm as he fell onto his back, smashing the bottle against his attacker’s face.
He turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut as water and glass rained down on him, alongside the remains of withered monkshood petals. For a breath, time stood still. And then Stiles registered the pain blossoming from his abdomen, and he looked down to see the knife handle jutting out from his torso.
He was still staring at it in disbelief while he was hauled up from the floor by the front of his shirt, snapping out of the shock when his head was wrenched to the side. He knew from experience that struggling to get out of its grasp was on par with fighting off a boa constrictor, but that didn’t stop him from trying.
He could feel teeth sinking into his neck, causing his panic to flare. He wanted to stay human! He liked being human! He was useful as a human! He had promised himself that if given the option, he would take the change for one reason, and nothing less than that one reason only. It would be a choice between himself and Derek and no one else.
“NO!” The desperation in his voice rang against his ears. Why hadn’t the monkshood worked? His hands rose in automatic defense, sliding against his assaulter’s skin in a mesh of wolfsbane water, garlic paste, and onion juice, trying to pry the oddly hairless head away from his jugular.
A raw scream echoed against the bare walls of the living room, and Stiles was pretty sure it came from himself, despite the way his mouth seemed to be working soundlessly. The dull thud against his back let him know he’d been dropped, but the paralyzing pain in his neck rendered him unable to move the majority of his left side. On the bright side, he could barely feel the knife in his stomach anymore.
Through his dimming vision, he managed to force his eyes to look up and watch the man who attacked him rear back, clawing at his face like a deranged lunatic. Despite this being the only time Stiles would probably ever find such a sight reassuring, he knew he still wasn’t safe. His legs weakly kicked out as his feet struggled to find purchase against the hardwood floor so he could push himself back. Put some distance between himself and the hairless werewolf. He needed to…he…he needed…to…to…
TBC…